My Smile Was Taken Long Ago
by LinoleumBob
Summary: What happens when the Joker discovers his psychologist is just as sick as he is? JokerxOC.
1. Chapter 1

_I don't own Batman, the Joker, blah blah, anything here. Rate and review- if you feel you can refrain from being a jackass._

Another windy, absurdly cold night in Gotham. I'm pretty sure Gotham has never had a fall this freaking cold. I'm sitting here in my study, on my well-used pullout couch, neglecting my lovely furnished bedroom like it's a habit. Well, I suppose it is by this point. Why sleep when I could be studying, learning, progressing? That seems to be my attitude of late; neglect, and progression. In that order. So much so in fact that my own sister won't talk to me. At least, I think that's the reason. Could it be that she's still harboring that petty jealousy from our childhoods? I can't see why...Jenny has everything I don't, everything I wish I could have. Normality. She has a loving husband, 2 beautiful children, a steady job, and...well, she doesn't have a definite lisp or a hideous scar marring her face. I would trade all my intelligence, all my early graduations, every ounce of intellect in my body...to just be normal.

I was born with a cleft lip. Google it if you're not sure what I'm talking about, but essentially I was born with part of my lip and nose missing. Science has advanced such that they were able to use skin grafts and, well..old fashioned sewing to piece my face together. I however, was left with a nice scar and a fairly pronounced lisp as a result. The lisp isn't nearly as bad as it used to be, thanks to public schooling and speech therapy, but the scar hasn't faded in the slightest. That's the first thing anyone sees on me; I can't blame them, it's inevitable. First meetings go as such - continual glances at my scar, then to my glasses, then sometimes to my boobs (if the subject is male), and more often than not, the glances eventually settle to a subtle switch between my eyes and my scar. I'm used to it by now. I'm used to having my somewhat attractive traits...all ignored. I have never had a boyfriend. Not that I wanted to, or had time to, I guess. I'm 22, by the way, and in the 5th year of my psychology degree. How is that possible, you may say? Well, I'm a freaking genius. No, seriously...I graduated high school at 15, and completed a bachelor of arts in criminology at the age of 17. I'm slowing down a little now, and taking it easy with my psych degree.

I live by myself, and have since I was 16. You get used to the solitude and loneliness after awhile. I have friends, I suppose. Most of my 'friends' are just people that seek to leech off my social circles and community status. Being a 'genius', I won loads of scholarships, including one from the exquisite Wayne Industries. Mr. Bruce Wayne himself presented me the award, and we've kept in touch ever since. He seemed to like me. Not in a sexual/romantic way, just in an intrigued and...almost paternal sort of way. We're not great friends or anything, but the general population of Paris Hilton-esque girls seem to think that if they befriend me, I will lead them to Bruce Wayne, and ultimately wealth and fame. I would never wish anything similar on him, seeing that these girls are so fake you can smell the bleach when they walk in the room. In any case, I think I've waxed poetic to myself enough for one night, and this psych paper has to be handed in tomorrow, or my field trip to Arkham won't be processed correctly. Shucks, I'd miss out on meeting weirdos.

Somewhere, on the other side of Gotham...

"You know, Batty, it's really simple. You let me go, and I don't blow this portion of your precious Gotham to smithereens. You like?"

The gruff voice of Batman replied quickly, and perhaps with more gusto than was necessary:

"I'll be seeing you through bars soon, clown. You won't escape Arkham this time."

He signalled the nearby police force to close in, and the Joker was disarmed quickly of the bomb button. Laughing hysterically, he let himself be dragged away, as Batman and Gordon walked away together in silence. It was Gordon who eventually broke the quiet.

"He's broken out 3 times now, how do you expect him to-"

"I know what I'm doing. There's going to be a new apprentice psychologist there, and she's good."

Gordon frowned, his mind recollecting vaguely a memory of a beautiful yet scarred young woman.

"Erika? But she's so young-"

"She knows what she's doing. If anyone has ever had a chance, it's her, Gordon.

Trust me."

"You know I do. But I don't know if I want to trust the person who is capable of revealing the past behind that smile."


	2. Chapter 2

_Part Two, yay. Rate and review if you so feel like it._

**_I couldn't face a life without your light_**

**_But all of that was ripped apart… when you refused to fight_**

The day started like any other; Erika woke up at 6 am, confused and unsure of her surroundings. As things started to materialize, she realized with a sigh that her alarm was in fact NOT a police siren coming to find her, and that the pinstriped walls were not orange and part of her uniform. She sat up groggily, vaguely aware that she had fallen asleep on her laptop, and that it was burning an agonizingly slow hole in her face.

"Fucking OW!" She yelled as she jumped up, suddenly very awake. Grumbling to herself, she walked unsteadily into the kitchen, taking wary glimpses into the Gotham sunrise. The view from her apartment really was beautiful, at the right moment. She sat down at the island in her kitchen absentmindedly, a bowl of cereal still out from the night before. Staring out the window into the purples, pinks, and oranges of this lovely sunrise, she couldn't help but feel that this was going to be a good day.

Arkham

"I really would like…some strawberries. I'm not a big fan of pudding, you know." The Joker leaned forward in his straightjacket, staring imploringly at the orderly whose sole purpose was to bring him food, and remain alive in his presence.

"Well uh….today is Monday, and on Mondays I'm pretty sure pudding is like…the sweet that comes with your breakfast." The Joker looked at the man dully.

"Well then I hope, for your sake, that you don't serve me again on Mondays at breakfast."

The orderly made his way quickly out of the room. It was too early for this shit.

Erika's Apartment

Humming loudly and decidedly off-key, Erika clambered out of the shower and hurriedly dried herself off. She had taken far too long staring outside in a haze, and it was now 6:30, and she had to be at Arkham at 7:30, and it took 15 minutes to get across town, and she really wasn't sure if she would have enough time to eat and get dressed and do her hair and makeup in just 45 minutes…

After taking a moment and thinking about what just went on in her brain processes, Erika shook her head and proceeded to her seldom used bedroom, putting on her glasses as she went. She opened the closet doors with a satisfying creak, and rummaged through the outfits that had collected dust throughout the years, tossing anything semi-professional out and onto her bed. After admiring her distinct lack of fashion sense, she decided on a dark grey cotton skirt that reached about to her knees, a purple dress shirt that she tucked in neatly, and an overly large black belt to fit around her waist. Mentally making a note to shave her legs more often, she then headed back to the bathroom and brushed out her just-past-shoulder-length dark blonde hair. As she had expected, it dried completely and utterly straight, with little pieces poking out on top. Grumbling, she pulled out some kind of flowery scented wax and stuck down the little ne'er do well hairs. Taking herself in from different angles, she scowled finally and trudged out of the bathroom. Uh oh. 7:00.

Arkham

The Joker was used to solitude by this point. This being his 4th visit to the lovely and clinical Arkham Asylum, he knew the nooks, crannies and idiosyncrasies of the white-walled life. Sitting strapped to his chair, he did what he often liked to do in situations such as these; think. His memory was impeccable; photographic, you might say. So to replay his memories (bodies, fires, gun shots) was like watching a familiar movie that he very much liked. Much to his dismay, his motion picture was cut short by a funnily small man in a white trenchcoat.

"I'm well aware that nothing seems to faze you, and that you may in fact be void of human emotion, but we have guests coming in momentarily. Try to be nice."

The Joker cheered up considerably at this news. Visitors? For him?

Erika's POV

Walking down the corridors of this white-walled building, I felt strangely at home. I guess it's my psychiatric training and whatever instinct I may have, but I felt like this was where I belonged. I couldn't help feeling underdressed, though. I made a mental note to buy more clothes when paycheques started coming in. Dr. Krall escorted me down the hall, talking continuously about the facility, how proud they were to have someone of my credentials apprenticing at the asylum, things like that. I secretly wanted to tell him to shove it, but I refrained.

"Um, Dr., sorry to interrupt, but…which patient am I visiting first? It seems as though we've been walking for awhile."

The Doctor smiled in a strange way, almost…pitying me.

"Well, my dear, the director here at Arkham insisted that since his recent recapture, the Joker would be the most likely candidate for your viewing pleasure…"

Damn it. I knew why they were doing this…it's like initiation at a fraternity. Show the newbie the craziest sunuvabitch you've got, and if they don't high tail it out of there after 5 minutes, you've got a keeper. Well, I'd show them. I'd last through the whole hour long session if I felt like it. I'm not a genius for nothing. I smiled sincerely at Dr. Krall, which was met with a look of confusion as we came to a stop.

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll see you when the session ends."

He opened the door for me, and I kept that smile going until the very moment the door closed behind me. I quickly checked for the sporadically placed cameras, and when I was reassured of my surroundings, I sat down with a sigh. Looking up, I couldn't help but be shocked by the man in front of me. No matter how many times you see it in the news, hear that blood-chilling voice through the television…it just doesn't compare. I shuddered involuntarily, my eyes tracing over the scars on his face. They had done me the courtesy of removing his makeup, which in some way only made him more frightening. My eyes roamed over his body, which to someone else would appear like a checkout move, but in fact I was looking for anything that would give me a hint as to what he was. Jewellery, any personalized changes he had made to his Arkham uniform…but there was nothing. My eyes travelled reluctantly back to his face, where I was met with a smile and a strange kindness to his deep brown eyes. His grin widened at my confusion, and he opened those scarred lips to speak.

"Good morning, doctor."

Joker's POV

What can I say, I was intrigued.


	3. Chapter 3

**_I cannot deny that you were designed for my punishments  
_****_The Blood and The Body - Control the cut so it's seamless_**

She was pretty, in a fleshy kind of way, and her eyes gave away intelligence far beyond her years. Pale skin, big green eyes, long blonde hair…she was any man's fantasy. Except…yes, there it was. It was the scar, before anything else, which intrigued me. Not the tacky fake designer clothes, not the 120 dollar pair of shoes, not the way she held herself or her charming smile…it was that scar. It linked her to me, in some primal, superficial way. I smiled my widest, kindest (or so I thought) smile, and leaned back in my chair. This was going to be too easy…another Harley Quinn. Maybe a little less good looking, but in a matter of days, she would be crawling at my feet, begging for parts of me. I couldn't wait to break that fake smile into a thousand tiny human pieces.

I can't help but wonder, after all this time, why they continue trying. All of these girls…you think I haven't noticed? There are tons of them; they find ways to send me letters, to contact me, to inform me just how batshit crazy they really are. It's too easy. There have been times when a certain one has shown up in person, and I've put on my best caring expression, then cut her up and left her for my men. Because…I simply. Don't. Care. They're under some misguided impression that beneath the makeup I am a different man, that I can change, that I'm just misunderstood. The only reason I ever kept dear old Harley was because, however unfortunate, I have yet to transcend the human to God gap, and I thus still have male urges (that she seemed to be talented at satisfying when the time was right).

No matter how different they think they are, no matter how abusive their past was, they still in no way relate to me. How could anyone really expect to relate to me? I'm a psychopath. I'm the fucking anti-christ. Hell, I've had girls cut up their own faces just to please me. Not that I didn't get a laugh out of the pictures, but it still disgusts me to have a fanbase of strange adorers, ALL of which I have no interest in. The only people I have ever found vaguely interesting were ones like this girl before me, who obviously are trying to hide their fear, and who think that flashing credentials before me will make me stop and look at myself honestly for even a moment. I am beyond that.

"I'm your new psychologist. Don't be fooled by my age or appearance, I'm pretty sure I've out-psyched anyone working here already. So, have you got anything you'd like to get off your chest, or are you just going to let me ask ridiculous questions about your past that I expect to go unanswered?"

She had balls. I'd give her that.

I smiled again, wider this time.

"Now Doc, or…Erika? May I call you that? Great. I'm going to be blunt, here. What do you expect to get out of these sessions with me?"

She seemed to consider it for a moment. I liked how she looked when she was thinking. Hopefully she would do it every once in awhile.

"All I honestly and respectfully can hope to get out of this, is some great conversations and some equally great wit. I'm not an idealist, Mr… uh, well, I'm just not an idealist." She pulled those lips into a smile, the scar twisting beautifully. "I know you're private, and I know that the evaluations all say that you're a sociopath, so I intend to let you say what you want, at your own pace."

I pretended to consider it.

"No ink blots?"

She smiled that captivating smile once more.

"I promise; no ink blots. I will say, though, that if you behave, I'm willing to allow you some privileges around here. Say…no shackles…eventually no straight jacket. Maybe, if you're a really good boy, I'll even allow you time around other prisoners again."

I doubted the last one, but…even to my brain, a lack of metalloid commitment was enticing. I nodded slowly, running my eyes up and down her body, looking for signs of a lie. I trusted this girl too easily. Not a weakness I was prone to, and one I was eager to extradite immediately. Well, we were introduced. Enough with the formalities.

"Do you want to know how I got these scars?"

Her eyes gave away nothing. Huh. That one usually got them going.

"Whatever you're willing to tell me, I'll listen to. Don't expect me to believe it, though. But yes, I'll admit I want to know."

I thought about it for a minute. What to tell her…

"When I was 13, my parents left me on the streets; too much money to feed me, you see. So, I did what every miscreant does- I joined the mob. It went well for quite a long time, until I started paying real attention to what went on. I wanted a cut of the power; I wanted in. When I told my mob boss, he just laughed, he said I had to prove myself. So that night, I went out, and I killed his wife and 2 children. It was fun for me…you know, at night, if I think real hard, I can still hear their screams."

I glanced up to see if she was buying it. Bingo…she was captivated.

"I brought him his wife's head. As pissed off as he was, he knew he couldn't fuck with me after that point. So he let me in. Only a year later, out on a job, my 3 colleagues knocked me unconscious with a gun and I woke up 2 days later in some crappy shack, tied to a chair. They stuck the knife in my mouth, and pulled it slowly, tenderly, through my skin. I passed out before they could finish, from blood loss more than anything. When they finished they told me it was a Glasgow smile, and that it was a reminder for me to stay away from the mafia. Boss had them do it. They let me go, on a promise to never come back."

She cleared her throat, obviously disturbed. "Did you…get them?"

My eyes widened involuntarily at this. Had she really just asked that? I smiled again.

"I killed every last one of them."

_AN: Thanks for reading, leave a review if you enjoyed. I like criticism, as long as you're not ranting about my Mary Sue (which I don't feel she is, but go figure.)_


	4. Chapter 4

**_"Even in a moment of abject saccharine, I still got it."_**

Erika's POV

The interview had continued on in the same vein; me asking silly, useless questions, and him answering to the worst of his ability. It's fruitless, and it always is. I've prided myself over the years on my ability to reassure humanity's faith in itself, to give people a reason to live again, through my work. But why, after all this, do we waste our resources keeping people like him alive? He's a detriment to society, to any workforce, to…well, everything we once stood for.

Oh, he's damn intriguing, I won't deny that. But why should I have to sit in a room with that man for an hour every day, trying to unravel the un-holiest of knots? It's fucking frustrating, to put it simply. I can't understand his psyche, and it drives me wild that I can't decipher him. Just when I think I'm making headway, and learning his little quirks and reasons for being, he does or says something that completely throws me. It's my own weakness, I know, and I should be slapped for it. But there are times when he's just so…disarmingly human. Like how after a 20 minute conversation on the joy he finds when bringing a knife to his victims, he told me that when I laughed, I made him feel something that he hadn't felt in years; giddiness. It's ridiculous, I know, but he's…charming, in his own right. And I know it's absolutely useless, and that he's a psychopath, and I've even read Harley's diary entries from during her transformation…but he still gets to me. Oh, there is that overwhelming part of me inside that says that I deserve what I get, that I'm in over my head, that I'm an idiot if I even fantasize about pursuing this. But there's also this little…nudge in the back of my mind that's urging me to take those shackles off and let him do whatever he wants with me. Would it really be all that bad? Sure, he is a bit greasy, and in all likelihood he smells bad, but…oh, who am I kidding? He's disgusting. And yet, through it all, I am immensely and indescribably attracted to him.

Joker's POV

When a man sees a woman that is attractive to him, it is natural…no, it's downright instinctual to get carried away with his more primal sentiments in the mind. Namely…the act of procreation. Or recreation, whatever you want to call it. In layman's terms, you think with your cock. Now if I was at all a "normal" man, this would essentially be the case with my lovely young doctor, and I am sane enough to realize this. There is an overwhelming physical attraction that I won't deny. I suppose it's in the processing of this attraction that every male is inherently different. I've seen it enough with my henchmen to know…if they see a little blonde thing with big breasts and a vaguely low-cut shirt, their ridiculously small brains think only of sex. Crude, grimy, abhorrently human sex. Such is not the case with me.

Erika's body, her lips, that scar…there is certainly some rudimentary urge deep within me to bend her over and fuck her until I'm satiated. But within me, there are urges that are much simpler and gratifying to be dealt with. I don't fantasize about something as effortless as penetration. When I think of that young body, the vivacity that runs through her every cell…I want to break her. I want to make her squeal in pain, and scream, and cry for mercy, which I won't be inclined to deliver. I want to see that pretty young face cut into unrecognizable pieces, and those big eyes looking up at me with pain and obsession. But above all…I want to be able to hit her, whip her, cut her, bite her, and overall abuse her to no end, and to have her crawl back to me after it all, maimed and bleeding, with a smile and a promise to be better next time. I want her to be mine. I want her to lose all self-respect, every ounce of herself, and to become simply my willing slave. And if she is at all like dear Harley was, this whole process won't even put a blot of work in my mind. I can see it already…the way she looks into my eyes, wanting to see the kindness that she dares to deem me capable of. She, like others before her, wants to believe me to be capable of all that is righteous and so tediously like the rest of mankind. It's so useless.

I forget sometimes…whether I was always like this. My past, or what there is left of it, is all somewhat of a blur in my mind. As if it were a kaleidoscope that someone has dipped in blood, and spun at much too quick a rate. There are images, and they seem to be tethered to some bits of my consciousness, but by and large, they make no sense to me. Not that this perturbs me in any way. All there truly is in an existentialist life is the present. And…Oh, goody, an attending has come to knock me out again. Is a chronic lack of sleep always this disturbing to humanity, or is it just because it's me? I'll take the latter. I will see you when I wake, my sweet toy to be broken. Oh, there is so much fun for us yet to have.

Erika's Apartment

Erika moved as though already asleep. The past week's events were overwhelming, and her best remedy for being overwhelmed was doing absolutely nothing. She wandered around her apartment like a poorly dressed zombie, cup of lukewarm tea in hand, and hair pulled into a ridiculously lazy bun. Finally deciding on doing something mildly productive, she sat down with her laptop and checked her email. Junk mail, junk mail, Viagra, junk mail, an email from her sister, and still more junk mail. She sighed.

"Well, at least I have one piece of non-crap…"

She opened the email with another melodramatic sigh. It blathered on about the monotonous dealings of a housewife, and Erika couldn't help but feel jealous. Here she was, absolutely alone, and her sister couldn't find anything better to do than send her an email complaining about her life.

"Oh shucks, you have a husband that can buy you shiny things, and kids that are strangely adorable. Sucks to be you." She thought grumpily.

A new email came in at that moment, from an unknown sender.

"Great," she thought. "More Viagra."

She opened the email with a distinctive level of pessimism, and her eyes widened at the contents.

"I want you."

She eyed the sender again suspiciously. No name, no address, nothing…she hit reply.

"That's nice. Who are you?"

The reply was nearly instantaneous, and the suddenness of it knocked Erika right out of her seat.

"I am your best patient."

Her heart nearly died out right at that moment. Patients were in no way allowed access to outside contact unless it was visitors, and she severely doubted that an orderly had been dumb enough to let him at a computer. She replied yet again, watching her every word.

"Where are you right now?"

Another reply came, just as quickly as before. She felt her heart rise into her throat, the pressure becoming overbearing.

"In your lovely apartment."

_(Hello faithful, readers, my few and far between. I'm sorry this took a little longer to get up, but I had trouble deciding how to put the last segment together. All done now. Rate and review, please.)_


	5. Chapter 5

_(I'm sorry that I'm a terrible person and that this took soooo long to release, but I've discovered that university is hard. Who knew? Anyways, here's the new part. Enjoy.)_

**Tried not to lose you;**

**Two vibrant hearts could change.**

Erika's Apartment

Erika held her breath as she edged out of her bedroom. It was bad enough there was a psychopathic stranger in her house, but she had dropped her tea cup on her foot, too. Not being the generic horror movie/porn star, Erika concluded that she would likely require something with which to defend herself. With a quick glance around her, she found the most feasible form of weaponry; the tea cup that was progressively crushing her foot. Breathing as quietly as was humanly possible at this point, Erika crept around the corner, tea cup in hand. She painfully approached the living room, taking care to be ridiculously stealthy. A dark figure loomed ahead, and her heart began to race. The dark figure was immense, terrifying…and sitting on her couch. Brows furrowed (stealthily), Erika continued toward the couch, tea cup raised a la Vin Diesel.

She released her fury into the swing of the tea cup, aimed at her assailant's head, and just as she thought that she was about to become a killer, a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. The struggle lasted for a solid 8 seconds before Erika was thrown onto the couch, her attacker standing over her, breathing heavily. He (she was presuming that it was, in fact, a he, seeing as how 'it' was easily twice her size) then proceeded over to her wall, Erika watching without drawing a breath. He then…flicked on the light. Bruce Wayne stood staring at her, fury apparent on his face.

"Do you think this is funny, Erika? If I had been someone else, and not me…did you really think a tea cup would stop me? You would be dead right now! Jesus Christ!"

Bruce took a few steps towards her, but upon seeing the look on her face, stopped and took a deep breath. Erika sat up on her couch, staring openly at the man she had almost shredded via tea cup.

"Why…why were you in my apartment? Why did you send me that message? How did you think I would react? Why…uh…" She shook her head, trying to think a little more clearly. Things seemed to be a little bit fuzzy right now. It was like…Stargate…going through a portal…the blurriness seemed akin to teleportation.

"Erika? Ah, shit…"

Bruce Wayne's POV

I caught her before she hit the floor. Out like a light, I believe the expression is. I guess all the excitement must have been too much for her…I suppose I shouldn't have yelled like that, either. I'll have flowers sent to her apartment for when she regains consciousness.

Honestly, though, what was she thinking? Had I really been a burglar, did she really expect to fend me off with…a tea cup? I set her down on the couch again and quickly grabbed a blanket from the closet in her room, laying it over her gently. I genuinely didn't mean to scare her that bad…I just bought an iPhone, and I wanted to try it out, actually. I wonder why she was so touchy about that…maybe I'll do a little investigative work. I headed over to her spare room, finding the laptop that I knew would be there already open. A quick glance at the screen explained it all. Her trip to Arkham…I had forgotten that she interviewed the Joker. No wonder she fainted…

In that case, I'll definitely be setting up patrols around her apartment from now on. I won't tell her, it would probably make her think I worry too much, but…she really doesn't know what she's dealing with. I know that much for certain. Honestly, a tea cup.

Erika's POV

I woke up with my head throbbing, and with a ridiculously itchy blanket on top of me. A pain-filled glance at the stove clock informed me that it was 4:26 in the a.m. What had happened…

One look at the gaudy teacup filled with small flowers sitting on my counter reminded me of all that had occurred, leading to me in the present time with a possible concussion. I sat up wearily, holding my head in a feeble attempt to stop the throbbing. I sat up a little higher when I saw a note on my counter, trying to read it from the couch. No dice…where the hell are my glasses? I shook my head feverishly and then stood up much too rapidly and hobbled over to the counter, the flowers, and the accompanying note.

"You don't have a concussion. Sorry about the intrusion. Hope you like the flowers.

-Bruce"

I shook my head, a smile on my face. He knew how to make me feel a little bit better, at least.

_(I know it was fairly short, but I wanted to introduce you to Bruce Wayne.)_


	6. Chapter 6

(Right, um…feel free to hate me. A lot. I know it's been a ridiculous amount of time. I promise nothing anymore, except that I am still alive and I have this story seething in the back of my brain, which hopefully gives me cause to write. Sometimes.)

**"It takes the city a few weeks to calm back down even after the Joker is locked safely away in Arkham. I can hardly blame them."**

Bruce Wayne's (Re-constructed) Manor

"I'm telling you, Alfred, it was stupid of her. The girl has an IQ of God-knows-what above 160, but she tries to defend herself against an intruder with…a teacup. You know, the cup that you drink tea out of? The little ones? You should know, Alfred, you're British."

Alfred, while inwardly amused, proffered an exasperated look if only for Master Wayne's sake.

"I don't understand her either, sir. Although, if I may so much as inquire…why were you in her apartment in the first place?"

Bruce's expression went from enraged to sheepish in a matter of seconds.

"I just…well I got that new phone, the fun one…I sent her an email…uh….testing wifi…serious…company business…"

Alfred made good use of his best condescending expression to keep from rolling his eyes. Bruce cleared his throat.

"Alfred, could you check on breakfast?"

"Right away, Master Wayne."

Bruce, whether from sheer embarrassment at being caught, out of a driving force to investigate Erika's participation with the Joker, or from the sudden brilliant rush to create a Bat Signal App, proceeded to leave the room fairly quickly.

Erika's POV

Bruce may have thought he was being clever, as well as sneaky (although he wasn't really that sneaky, he just got lucky and is incredibly well-built for a businessman, as normally he wouldn't have been able to contend with my teacup skills), but the whole incident had made me think. As I made my way through Gotham's streets by bus (I was still afraid of a concussion, billionaire's opinion or no billionaire's opinion), I contemplated what awaited me at the Asylum. Obviously my career was taking me in a new, though slightly erratic direction, and I was feeling fully prepared for that as the bus approached its last stop before I would be forced to walk uphill in heels. That god-damned smile, albeit cigarette-stained, cruel, desperate, and masochistic, was…

"_I want you._"

…enticing.

The Joker's POV

I'd like to tell you that I missed seeing her pretty face, that it brightened my day, that hearing her heels clink grotesquely on the cold tile while she charmed her way through the halls made me smile. But then…I would be lying, wouldn't I?

What I won't lie about is that I was feeling the slightest bit excited for our latest session. That oddly perverse clinking made its way to my clinical door. Knowing that she stopped outside, hearing the slight hitch in her breath as she composed herself before entering, made me almost lose it with anticipation. But I don't give anything away. I'm an expert at what I do. And this was no exception. I had been planning since our last visit, and I was well organised for our second encounter. I had done my research – had my good doctor done the same?

Erika's POV

I cursed my heels as the hallways seemed to stretch on endlessly. No doubt I looked awkward, uncomfortable, completely unsure of what I was really doing…but I had the degree behind me, right? I should know all of this. This should be the easy part. The studying, the exams, that was the hard part. Facing him…that should be simple.

_(I promise I'll continue soon. Ok? Real promise this time. And I'm awfully sorry it's so short. Bahahaha.)_


	7. Chapter 7

**Sister, don't reduce yourself…you've got to find something to love.**

Erika's POV

With some (alright, extreme) hesitancy, I slowly opened the door in order to face the man that I knew was there, awaiting my arrival. As I stepped into the room I initially made every effort to avoid looking at him, my heart racing unintentionally. I was afraid that he would know, he would sense my fear, he would smell my hesitancy, he would take advantage of his seemingly accidentally terrifying presence. I was afraid of him. And, above all, I was horrified that I could feel sympathy for this creature.

So I closed the door, taking a moment to collect my thoughts and steady my stance. I am brilliant, I am strong, I am excellent at my job, I am wholly capa-

"You look lovely today, doctor."

I finally pulled myself out of my thoughts and chanced a look at him. There he was, the same as ever, sitting, cuffed, in a firm and rusted metal chair in front of an equally rusted metal table, just waiting. For me. Why was everything rusted? It would seem strange in a supposedly sterile environment, with its light blues and whites and its cold, clean look that there would be any rusty surface. But then, that was suitable, wasn't it? Arkham gave the initial appearance of professionalism, of sterility, of sanity…but within its depths lay rusted tables and chairs, and presumably, ceiling leaks. And…oh, he had told me I looked lovely.

I drew my eyes away from the molded ceiling tile and forced myself to look back at him. I'm a doctor, damn it! A professional! And I can deal with a patient, a patient just like any other, except that…

He had combed his hair.

Presumably for me.

Damn it.

The Joker's POV

This was just too easy.

"I've missed you."

Erika's POV

If at all possible, my heart was beating faster than before. In fact, I was certain it had the potential to break free from its constricting vessels and structures and simply walk out of my chest. It would leave a terrible scar.

"You haven't missed me, it's only been a few days. You don't miss anyone. You're…you're incapable of missing anyone, or having feelings, or feeling. Anything. You know that, and I know that. I know that…"

He smiled at me then, that crooked, stained, menacing smile, but instead of being crooked, stained and menacing, it was only…alluring.

"It sounds like you're trying to justify something to yourself, my dear."

He leaned slightly forward, his hands still cuffed behind his back – drawing me in.

"Why don't you come have a seat, doctor? I have so much to tell you about."

I cleared my throat, reassured my heart that it belonged firmly inside of my body, and made a firm attempt to regain my composure.

"Erika. You can call me Erika."

His smile widened.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in Arkham…

"This is stupid. It's not that bad here. I don't get it. Plus, you know, it's gonna be hard to get out, it's like… a maximum security thing. You know? I just don't get…"

At this point in his rambling, Harley leapt forward and punched Croc square in the jaw.

"Mister Jay knows what he's doing, you moron! I'm sick of your whining! And if you want to actually see the sky outside of Arkham, you'll round up your stupid buddies and let them know that Mister Jay and me have a plan. A good one..."

She lost herself in her thoughts again, smiling absent-mindedly into the distance. Killer Croc nursed his now sore jaw and shuffled away to the opposite corner of the cell, his tail hanging between his legs in defeat. Harley's eyes glazed over, a lingering fantasy apparent in her expression.

"A very, very good one…"

Back in the counseling cell…

"How do you feel about Harley Quinn?"

After they had exchanged meaningless pleasantries and the Joker had continued to startle Erika with a sense of (false) compassion, Erika decided to haul out the big guns, if only metaphorically. The Joker gave her a sad smile in response to her question and hung his head slightly, as though ashamed and guilty about his treatment of the psychiatrist-turned-psychopath.

"I feel sometimes as though, if I were capable of love, I could have loved Harley. But I am not, and so her infatuation was inherently misplaced. And I mistreated her terribly…but you have to understand, doctor, I did it in an attempt to drive her away. I did not want her to have to suffer through the rejection that my dead heart could only provide."

During his pseudo-speech, Erika found herself involuntarily leaning forward in her seat, wanting to believe him, so desperately wanting to know that he could feel. Hearing a natural end to his explanation, she cleared her throat and quickly leaned back in her seat, trying to regain an air of professionalism.

"Well, on that note, I think that's enough for today. You…have made significant progress, and I have to admit, I'm impressed. I think there's more to you than you like to let on."

Erika allowed herself to smile at the grubby, malevolent man before her, and let her smile linger as her heels began to click down the hallway away from that cold, clinical room, unaware of his eyes following her out of the room.

"Definitely progressing…"

The Joker's POV

I can't seem to wipe this smile from my face. Maybe it's because I've made progress in therapy with my lovely doctor, but somehow I'm doubtful. I have a strange feeling it has more to do with the fact that Batty's out of town and I want to play. Will the good doctor want to play with me? I certainly hope so.

_(Huh, I wrote more!)_


End file.
